Mourning Express Read online

  Breaking the ruse of us not knowing each other, Gabe ran up and grabbed my hand. “There you are, Rosie. We’re on a tight schedule today.”

  He gave a brisk nod to Teddy and dragged me across the small parking lot. “Don’t worry about the mob because I’m going to kill you.”

  “I’m sorry but I needed to get into the back room.”

  “Did you get the picture?”

  “Not really. Things got a little complicated.”

  A car engine revved and Bowman’s green sedan pulled up and blocked the rear of mine. “Why are you following me? Didn’t you get enough attention at my uncle’s funeral?” Bowman glanced at Gabe. “Aren’t you the jerk from earlier?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No, you’re the jerk from earlier.”

  I didn’t get my photo but I could still get a confession. With my hands on my hips, I leaned down close to the car window, my adrenaline egging me on. “I’m doing this for Pearl. You killed your Uncle Harold and I’m gathering evidence to prove it.”

  “You are insane.”

  The second time I’d heard that accusation today. “You owe money to the mob and you needed your inheritance. That’s motive.”

  “You’re missing one key piece, junior detective. I have an alibi. The night Harold died I was here in Napoli’s bar from early afternoon until the next morning. Long after Harold had been found.”

  He sat smug while I soaked in his words.

  “So you say,” I said, the bark taken out of my words.

  “Would you like to go back in there and ask Mr. Napoli?”

  I wouldn’t.

  Bowman continued. “And I’m not the only one who benefited financially from his death. Imagine my surprise when the probate lawyer told me your dear friend Pearl gets half of Harold’s insurance payout. Maybe that gold digger’s motive is stronger than mine.”

  “She would never. Pearl is kind and loving and all the things opposite of you.” How dare he accuse Pearl?

  “People will do anything when money is on the line. Just ask her how big her cut is when all the dust settles.” He rolled up his tinted window and left me standing there feeling like an idiot.

  Of course, things like alibis and motive were important. I’d just assumed Bowman checked off the boxes for each of those.

  I turned to Gabe but he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m still mad at you.”

  I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I thought proving Bowman killed Harold would be easier than this.”

  His phone chimed a few times and he took a break from scolding me to check the messages. “That’s the production assistant for the zombie movie. We’re back on as of tomorrow morning. I need to get on the road.”

  I poked out my bottom lip in a pout. “Who’s going to help me solve this murder if you’re down in Georgia playing with zombies?”

  “No one.” His tone took on a no-nonsense edge. “You’re going to promise to stop putting yourself in danger. This morning and afternoon were madness. Nothing you’ve uncovered so far even resembles evidence that Harold was murdered. And your main suspect just one-upped you in a bar parking lot. You need to come to terms with the fact that Harold was an old guy who had a terrible accident.”

  “Maybe.” I reached for the driver’s side door but withdrew my hand, defeat and irritation and the cognac making me tired. “You know I don’t like to drive if I’ve had even one drink. Should we call Mateo?”

  “I never touched that gross beer.” Gabe shuddered. “I’m happy to drive.”

  I handed him the car keys and let the entire day’s events sink in on the ride back to our apartment. I hated that I’d let my imagination mixed with love of movie drama create a murder where there was none. With a loud sigh, I laid my head against the window. As of this second, I’d put my Scooby gang meddling to an end.

  ∞∞∞

  After a late afternoon nap, I felt recharged and ready to get back to my favorite new pastime—job hunting. Professional mourning held the promise of quick cash, but I still needed something steady on a weekly basis. With Mateo going back on another forty-eight hour shift and Gabe on the road to Georgia, the quiet and loneliness of the apartment motivated me to take twenty of my last forty dollars and seek out Grammy. It gave me an opportunity to return Pearl’s quilt to her and to borrow a newspaper to check the want ads.

  I called in a to-go order at Rocky’s Hot Chicken Shack of three tenders with double fries and had enough money left over for an appetizer of fried pickles. The smells of perfectly fried chicken and potato lifted my spirits. Grammy always said most sadness can be cured with a pound of fried chicken. Then again, Gramps had lost the battle with clogged arteries in my teens, so there’s a chance she overdid it with the chicken. Southern women loved to fry everything. Good food on every corner was one of the reasons it wasn’t so terrible being back home.

  Countryside’s parking lot wrapped around the building in an L shape. Even though there were plenty of spaces in the front, I pulled into the back lot to sneak in through the nurses’ entrance. Now that I’d caught Grammy up by at least a month, I didn’t need to hide, but old habits die hard.

  I made my way down the hall noting the paper flower decorations taped to the wall. The local preschools always sent over the cutest art for the residents. Lucinda Rae had dozed off in her wheelchair in the hallway and I carefully moved past her. I found Grammy in her favorite spot in front of the television watching another black and white film.

  After a kiss on the cheek, I moved to the kitchenette and halved up the chicken dinner on two paper plates.

  She hadn’t said hello or called me by my mom’s name.

  “Got your favorite from Rocky’s.” I put her folding table tray in front of her and waited. When she didn’t respond, I put the food on the tray and sat down on the bed behind her balancing my plate in my lap.

  Burt Lancaster, Jr. woke from his doggy nap and sniffed at my shins. I gave him a chunk of my chicken finger along with a couple of fries. He thanked me with a grunt and a gulp.

  “I had a very interesting day, Grammy,” I started.

  She shushed me and I chuckled, tossing Burt Jr. another fry. Grammy didn’t mean to hurt my feelings or act like she didn’t care. When I’d first started acting, she hung on my every word when we had our weekly call. Then the memory loss took hold. After Mom passed it seem to get worse.

  Grammy finally reached over and took a piece of chicken. She mumbled under her breath and I was pretty sure she complained about it being cold.

  A light knock sounded from the door right before it opened. Pearl stuck in her head and called for Burt Jr. She waved when she saw me. “How are you this evening, Miss Rosie? I’m here to take Burt Jr. on his evening walk.”

  I hopped up, grinning. All my hard work of the day had led to this moment. “I have a surprise for you.”

  She came into the room and her gaze immediately focused on the quilt. “Is that what I think it is? But how?”

  I spared her the details. I doubted she’d approve of my antics but the look of happiness on her face let me know I’d done the right thing. She ran her fingers across one of the circles and her eyes welled with unshed tears.

  Burt Jr. whimpered by the door.

  She sniffed and straightened her shoulders. From somewhere inside her scrub’s pockets she retrieved a tissue and dabbed under her eyes. “Ah yes, Burt Jr. Let’s get you to the grass.”

  “Mind if I come along?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t mind. I appreciate your company.” She grabbed Burt Jr.’s leash from the wall hanger and I followed them down the hall past Lucinda Rae, still slumbering.

  She let Burt Jr. loose to handle his business and she sat beside me on the bench.

  “So…” I picked at the edge of my t-shirt. “I accused Bowman of murdering Harold today.”

  Her sharp gasp made me wince. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  I spread my hands wide. “All these bits and pie
ces kept coming together like they were clues meant for me to find. Even you mentioned a suspicion about his death.”

  “Honey, clues are a matter for the police.” She stared off across the yard. “Poor Bowman.”

  I stood and rubbed my upper arms, not against the cold but against the reality of my accusations and how they could hurt Pearl. “Please don’t feel sorry for that man. I confronted him about Harold’s death being more than an accident and in return he accused you.”

  “Me?” Her short chuckle underlined the absurdity. “For what reason?”

  “Money.”

  Her face shifted as if I’d touched a raw nerve. “I most certainly do not need a man for his money. I raised two boys on my own for years after my husband passed.”

  “I’m sorry I meddled. You’re right. I should leave it all alone.”

  “Sit down.” She patted the space beside her. “I mentioned going to the police after Harold passed, but Pastor Tom talked me out of it. He said sometimes we can’t process our grief properly and our imagination begins playing tricks on us. I think perhaps you’ve gotten a little too close to the memory of Harold and you’re doing the same.”

  I sat so hard the bench creaked. “Pastor Tom told you not to go to the police?”

  Burt Jr. yipped at something in the deepening shadows. Not usually much of a barker, he yipped three more times and let loose a low growl.

  Pearl stood. “Come on, Burt Jr. No sense getting riled over a raccoon.”

  Choosing to be a lover and not a fighter, Burt Jr. came to the gate and let Pearl attach his leash. She turned to me. “I said goodbye to Harold yesterday. That’s enough for me. Thank you again for returning my grandmother’s quilt to me.”

  “It’s the least I could do considering you saved my behind with the professional mourning job.”

  “You coming back in?”

  I glanced out into the shadows again but couldn’t make out any shapes, raccoon or otherwise, so I followed Pearl and Burt Jr. back into Countryside. I stopped for a short hello with the groggy Lucinda Rae and headed back to Grammy’s room. She’d eaten everything on her plate plus what had been on mine when I’d left the room. I cleaned the mess and helped her into her pajamas.

  She patted my cheek after she climbed into bed. “Such a good girl, my Jojo.”

  I held her hand against my cheek for a moment longer. “I try, Grammy.”

  She rolled to her side and I took it as my cue to leave. Burt Jr. nuzzled my hand as I gave him a pat-pat goodbye.

  Outside, I drew in a deep breath of air. The evening temps dropped as the moon rose above the mountains. I clicked my key fob to unlock the doors and it didn’t make the familiar little click. The closer I got, I realized the dome lamp in the front seat was lit up. Having a fear of running the battery dead, I never left the inside lights on.

  I pulled on the driver’s side door and let out a small groan. My glove box and side compartment were open and the registration and other papers spilled on the floor. The contents of my purse were dumped in the passenger seat but at least they hadn’t taken my wallet. I had nothing left worth stealing but that didn’t erase the violation I felt from having someone rifle through my personal space. I glanced around the empty parking lot to make sure the perpetrator wasn’t still nearby.

  The Countryside parking lot wasn’t exactly crime central. I hesitated with my phone in my hand. A call to the police would be a waste of time since nothing was missing. I’d report it to the assisted living facility’s security guard and be thankful the car hadn’t been stolen. I made a quick call to the on-duty guard and he promised to keep a closer eye on that side of the lot.

  I slipped into the driver’s seat when I finally noticed the note. Written in chicken scratch, I held it up under the dome light and read it out loud. “Stop investigating Harold’s death or else.”

  11

  A banging against my head woke me early the next morning. I’d slept in the worn recliner pushed up against the front door, the note balled up in my lap.

  “What the heck?” Mateo’s irritated voice filtered in through the crack he’d made when he’d tried to push the door open.

  “Hold up,” I called out and shoved the note from the night before into the crack of the chair. I slid the chair forward and Mateo walked through.

  “I thought you were on shift for another…” I stopped to do some math in my head. “Twenty-four hours?”

  “One of the guys wanted to pull in some extra hours and since you’re almost proving to be reliable with rent payments, I can afford to take an extra day off.” He glanced at the chair and then back at me. “What’s going on? Paparazzi stalking?”

  “No, I just, um…” I collapsed into the chair. “It’s been a weird couple of days.”

  Mateo dropped his bag and walked into the kitchen. “Why don’t I scramble up some eggs and you can tell me about it.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That you want eggs?”

  “That I should tell you about it.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not going to see me in a very positive light.”

  “Is it worse than getting caught licking donuts and saying you hate the country you live in?” After washing his hands, he set a pan on the stove and grabbed eggs from the fridge. “Or trashing a hotel room or walking barefoot into a convenience store bathroom?”

  “Nothing to get me a spot on any actors behaving badly website.” I cringed. “Other than the video that’s already there.”

  He cracked the eggs into the pan then washed his hands again. “You have four and a half minutes. Give me the abridged version. When the eggs are done, I’ll wow you with some sage advice.”

  Although I hadn’t planned to out myself as a professional mourner to Mateo or anyone other than Gabe, I felt a need to unburden. I let it all out. How I met Ruthie, the speech at Harold’s funeral, Pearl’s engagement, Lou the private investigator, going to the estate sale for the quilt, overhearing Bowman and Teddy, talking to the detective and finally meeting Mr. Napoli and fearing for my life. I left out the part about the pleather bustier. I walked to the chair and withdrew the hidden note. “And just when I’d given up on there even being an actual murder, someone broke into my car and left this threatening note.”

  Finished cooking the eggs, he set our plates down on the kitchen table. He took the note from me and read it in silence. “This is why you had the chair against the door?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Eat.”

  We sat and ate in silence for several long moments.

  “Where’s the sage wisdom that’s supposed to come with the breakfast?” I asked.

  He gestured with his fork making a circle. “You mean common sense for this problem. Go back to the police.”

  “The detective won’t believe me. All the Diva Rosalind rumors have him prejudiced against me.” I dipped my head and toyed with my eggs. “Like I’m making it all up for attention.”

  “What do your instincts tell you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do.” Mateo set his fork down. “Not long after I graduated EMT school, I passed by a car on the highway’s right shoulder. I could see a person in there with their head resting on the back headrest. There was no reason to believe the person hadn’t pulled over to text or just take a rest, but my instincts told me to check it out.”

  “Were they okay?”

  “The woman had suffered cardiac arrest while driving. She’d managed to pull over out of traffic but couldn’t call for help. If I hadn’t stopped, she would’ve died.”

  “My guy is already dead.”

  “Does that make him any less important? What do your instincts tell you?”

  I threw my arms wide and sent a piece of egg flying into the kitchen. “That someone murdered Harold and that person knows if I keep digging I’ll uncover who it is.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I don’t know what to do next.”

  He took a few more bites, cleaning h
is plate. “Okay, let’s put this into a perspective you understand. If this were a role you were auditioning for on one of those movies, would you walk in without knowing your lines?”

  “No.”

  “Would you research the role properly?”

  “Of course.”

  “This isn’t any different. Do the research and then make an informed decision about how to proceed.”

  “Wow. That’s about as sage advice you can get.”

  “I’m going to sleep for about six hours. You’re on dish duty.” He put his plate in the sink and lifted his bag off the floor. He dug around inside and pulled out a black bottle of pepper spray. “Don’t leave this apartment without it. And if you plan to hunt down the Asheville mob again, please wake me up, so I can go with you. Understand?”

  “Understood.” I took it from him and our fingertips touched. A tickle formed in the bottom of my belly. The kind of tickle I’d looked for with Tom but hadn’t felt. I held Mateo’s gaze for a moment. “Do you know you’re the only person who hasn’t told me to stop looking into this or called me crazy?”

  He winked and gave me the smile I realized I looked forward to seeing over the past couple of days. “I like seeing you use your powers of drama for good. Plus, I’ve seen your movies. If all else fails, just flop to the floor and play dead.”

  “Ha ha.”

  With his bag slung over his shoulder, he strutted down the hallway. Before he went in his room, he called out, “You can use my laptop for research, but I’m sure you were going to do that anyway.”

  I gave him a sloppy salute with two fingers touched against my forehead. The dorky gesture earned me a chuckle. Before he changed his mind and went back into grumpy landlord mode, I took his laptop from the coffee table and snuggled into the couch. Back to full on meddling.

  What did I really want to know? First, I needed to ditch my television and movie misconceptions. Facts and evidence were the watch words. I read an article on the path to an arrest for a criminal offense. The two words that stood out were probable cause. But that only worked if I had someone to accuse. Great. I thought I’d had someone to accuse with Bowman. And he in turn accused Pearl, which anyone would see as baloney. I clicked around a few other articles. One had a suggestion of hiring a private investigator if the police weren’t particularly useful. I’d called Lou earlier the day before but hadn’t heard back. Also, I didn’t have the money to spend on someone who’d want a hefty retainer anyway.