Icing on the Casket Read online

  Ten minutes later, I parked my car in the garage. I hadn't even bothered to let Mike know that I'd left work early, and guilt consumed me. It wasn't fair that I could come home and nap while he was stuck at work, but I knew he wouldn't begrudge me. When I woke up, I'd text him and ask him to meet me at my parents' for dinner.

  I grabbed the mail out of the box and tossed it onto the coffee table in the living room without even looking at it. I stripped off my clothes, except for my underwear, and practically dove under the covers of the unmade bed. After a minute, I remembered my phone. I couldn't just ignore it anymore. I had a baby whose needs had to come first. I ran into the living room, grabbed it out of my purse, and set it on the nightstand.

  Spike jumped onto the bed and settled himself across my feet. I knew he wanted to go for a walk, but I was too tired. Thankfully, we had the doggie door in the kitchen that he used whenever he needed to do his business. I reached down to scratch him behind the ears, murmured, "Good boy," and was out like a light.

  All too soon, my dream was interrupted by an incessant buzzing. I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes after three. For a moment, I couldn't remember what day it was, and then everything came back to me. I'd been asleep for over two hours but felt even more tired than before my nap.

  The buzzing mercifully stopped. Relieved, I closed my eyes again. Within seconds, it started back up, and I was sorely tempted to throw the phone out the window. I reached out my hand to the nightstand, knocked the phone to the floor, lost my balance, and fell out of bed with a thud. At least now I was awake. Cursing under my breath, I reached out to read the screen. My father's cell phone.

  A wave of anxiety passed over me, as I clicked Accept Call. "Dad, is Cookie okay?"

  "She's fine, baby girl," my father assured me. "But I'm not at the house right now."

  I sat upright and stretched out my legs. I already knew what this was about. My father rarely called, unless he wanted fortune cookies or needed a favor. I tried to not let the irritation show in my voice. "Dad, I asked around about Eddie, and a few customers said he was having some financial problems. But I'm sure you'll get paid soon."

  A long silence followed. "I know all about those rumors," Dad said. "People are saying he's been cheating his customers. It's terrible how your so-called 'friends' talk about you behind your back."

  "Dad, I'm really tired," I pleaded. "Maybe we can talk about this when I come over to the house tonight."

  "I called to tell you that I found Eddie," Dad said.

  Thank goodness. I loved my father, but at the moment, I didn't have the energy to deal with him or his morbid friends. "That's great! Where is he?"

  Dad cleared his throat. "In one of his coffins at the funeral home."

  Bewildered, I stared at the phone. "What are you talking about? Was he sleeping?" Go figure. My father must not be the only one who liked to take the occasional nap in a coffin.

  Dad's voice shook. "No. He's dead, baby girl."

  CHAPTER THREE

  My father inhaled the genetti I'd handed him in one gulp. The Italian cookies with sugary icing and nonpareils were his favorite, besides the bakery's fortune cookies, that is. I was glad that I'd thought to bring some with me. In desperate situations like this, my father's first thought always turned to food.

  I placed a hand on his arm. "Dad, you're not making any sense. Did Eddie become sick and collapse inside the coffin?"

  Dad shook his head and reached for another cookie. "I don't think so. He was fit as a fiddle. That man had a lot of life left in him."

  His words echoed through the empty viewing room of Phibbins Mortuary. After my father's startling phone call, I'd quickly gotten dressed and driven over with the cookies in tow to be with him. There was nothing we could do for poor Eddie now but my father had wanted me here, and I couldn't say no.

  Almost as distressing as learning that Eddie had been found dead in one of his coffins was to see my father in this present state of mind. He always had such an optimistic look on life—or death, for that matter.

  The coroner was currently in the display room, where Eddie had been found, located at the rear of the building. An officer from Colwestern's police force who I didn't recognize was with him. The man looked like he was barely out of high school and must have been a new trainee. Thanks to my history of finding dead bodies, I knew almost everyone in the department. Two EMTs had also been present but had departed once the coroner had arrived. There was nothing that they could do for poor Eddie either.

  My father peered into the bakery bag sitting between us. "Got any fortune cookies in there?"

  I reached into the bottom of the bag and handed him one. Between Dad and Mrs. Gavelli, someone in my life always needed a fortune cookie, so I'd learned to be prepared. "Dad, don't you think we've run out of good luck for today?"

  "We'll keep it for tomorrow, then." Dad cracked the cookie open and read the message silently to himself. "Huh. Any other day I'd consider this a great omen, but my heart's not in it right now."

  I peered over his shoulder and read the strip of paper. Look alive. You never know what tomorrow will bring.

  Good grief. I snatched the message out of his hands. "Forget you even saw that, Dad."

  He sighed heavily. "To top it all off, you know what those monsters did to him? They put him in a pine box. A pine box! The man deserved at least bronze. If that isn't a slap in the face, I don't know what is."

  I stared at him in disbelief. "He's dead, Dad. That's about the worst thing that can happen to him."

  "You don't understand, baby girl." He put his head in his hands as if it ached. "It was just the icing on the cake, err, casket, so to speak."

  "Not funny, Dad."

  Irritated, he threw up his hands. "I'm not trying to be funny. Eddie would be mortified if he knew. It's an embarrassment to his profession. Pine boxes are the cheapest type of coffins they make." His expression was solemn. "Take the clasps on the outside of the coffin, for instance. They're flimsy, just like the rest of it. When I bought mine, I checked some of the other models out. I was crazy enough to even sample a pine one. The lid closed on me while I was inside, and the lock snapped shut in place. It was no big deal. I was able to get out easy enough."

  "Don't, Dad. No more."

  He sighed. "Who could have done this to such a fine, upstanding man?"

  "That's what I'd like to know too."

  The familiar male voice drew my attention, and I turned around to meet Brian Jenkins' gaze. He was standing in the doorway watching my father and me. He looked different from the last time I'd seen him about three weeks ago. Brian had stopped by the bakery for some chocolate chip cookies a few days before his wedding. Of course, I'd given him a dozen on the house.

  The surprise on my face must have shown because he shot me a full-fledged grin. Although he'd always been handsome with that Greek godlike profile of his, Brian looked even better today. His dirty blond hair was a shade lighter than I remembered and most likely due to relaxing on a tropical island. His brilliant green eyes shimmered in the overhead light, while his skin had a healthy glow to it. Marriage obviously agreed with him, and I was glad.

  "Congratulations." I smiled in return. "How was Aruba?"

  Brian's white teeth gleamed when he smiled. "It was great, thanks. The only bad thing was that we had to come back."

  "I thought you weren't returning for a couple of more days," I said.

  Brian strode over to us. "We got back yesterday. I wasn't supposed to return to work until tomorrow, but when I heard the name Muccio over the police radio, let's just say that curiosity got the best of me."

  "Hilarious," I muttered.

  Brian placed his hands on his hips and eyed my father sharply. "What were you doing here by yourself, Domenic, and why were you looking inside coffins?"

  A loaded question for sure.

  "Hey," my father protested. "I didn't do anything wrong. Eddie gave me a key a while back. He said I was welcome
to stop by and try out one of his models whenever I felt like it. So I started checking the merchandise out."

  Brian's jaw dropped. "You mean you were looking to take a nap in it?"

  "Well, not that particular model," Dad said. "Too cheaply made. But most of them are really comfortable, son. You should try one out sometime."

  Brian looked like someone was playing a cruel joke on him. "Thanks, but I'll pass. What about the alarm? How'd you shut it off?"

  "Eddie gave me the code a while back. Piece of cake to remember since his birthday is the Fourth of July. Seven—"

  Brian interrupted him with a wave of his hand and then wrote something on the electronic tablet he was holding. I was amazed to see that our police department was becoming modernized. From what I knew, their budget was almost nonexistent.

  He addressed my father again. "You opened the lid, and there he was?"

  My father blew out a shaky breath. "Yes."

  I squeezed his hand. "It's okay. Take your time, Dad."

  "You're usually more talkative than this, Domenic." Brian's eyes clouded over with suspicion. "What gives?"

  I stared at him in disbelief. "He already gave a statement to your coworker. My father's in shock, Brian. It's not every day that you find your friend dead inside a coffin."

  Dad reached for another cookie. "It's all right, baby girl." He paused for a second, his eyes darting from me to Brian. "Do you want to know what the worst part was?"

  "You mean there's more? Something worse than finding him dead in a pine box?" I asked.

  Dad's face was ashen. "He'd already been embalmed," he whispered. "Eddie was all ready for his trip to the big funeral parlor in the sky."

  Ew. He hadn't told me this part yet. "You mean that someone killed him and then did all the necessary preparations for—" Oh, this was too much. My stomach started to churn until I thought I might be sick. "What kind of a lunatic are we talking about?"

  Brian's healthy-looking tan was fading fast. He put his head down and typed some more notes into the tablet. "It must have been someone who worked here." He jerked his finger in the direction of the viewing room. "Who's in there with the coroner?"

  "Not Adam," my father said, referencing Brian's partner. "Some guy with carrot-colored hair."

  "That's Keith. He's new to the force." Brian stuck the tablet under his arm. "Excuse me for a second, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

  I groaned and checked my watch again. It was almost six o'clock. "I'd better text Mike and tell him what's going on."

  A sharp, piercing wail filled the building, and I clutched at my father's arm. "What the heck was that? It sounded like a wild animal."

  "Nah." Dad was clearly unruffled. "Linda must be here. I'd know that voice anywhere."

  "Don't you like Mrs. Phibbins?" I asked curiously.

  "Oh, Linda's all right," Dad said. "But she's never been a fan of the funeral home. You see, Eddie's dad left the place to him when he died. His younger brother Arthur was furious because he'd always wanted the business." He glanced around the room in awe. "I mean, who could blame him? The place is a gold mine. You're always going to have customers."

  Boy was that the truth.

  Brian came back into the room leading a woman by the elbow. I'd never met Linda Phibbins before. Like her husband, she was in her early sixties but appeared much older. She was rail thin, with cropped dark hair that had a healthy dose of gray mixed in, sunken cheeks, and a wide, flat nose.

  My father rose to his feet and held out a hand to her. "Linda. How are you, dear?"

  "Oh, Domenic." She wept softly into a starched white handkerchief. "I just can't believe this has happened. Officer Jenkins said you're the one who found Eddie? But how? I don't understand."

  "Eddie gave me a key a while back," he explained.

  She looked confused. "I didn't realize. Oh well, it doesn't really matter." She sank heavily into the chair next to his. "Nothing matters anymore."

  My father stared up at Brian. "Any idea of what killed him?"

  "Not yet." Brian's mouth twisted into a frown. "An autopsy will be performed but since he's been embalmed already, it could interfere with toxicology results."

  Tears ran down Linda's cheeks, making her age spots more prominent, and my heart filled with sorrow for her. I knew from my father that they'd been married for over thirty years. "Can I get you anything, Mrs. Phibbins?" I asked. "Some water perhaps?"

  Linda seemed to see me for the first time. "Are you with the police department too?"

  "No, but she should be," my father said proudly. "Linda, this is my daughter, Sally Donovan. I don't think you two have ever met."

  "Oh, of course." She reached out to take my hand in her tiny one and I managed to hold back a yelp. It was like touching an ice cube. "Nice to meet you, dear. You're the one who makes the coffin cookies, correct? Eddie just loved them."

  I tried to smile. Of all the delicious cookies Josie and I baked, over 20 varieties, it was the fortune and coffin cookies we were known for, which I still found strange at times. "Yes, that's right."

  "Never mind the cookies," Dad interrupted. "I mean, they are pretty awesome, but Sal has other talents. She's solved more murders than the police department. She'll find out what happened to Eddie. I'd stake my own life on it."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A muscle ticked in Brian's jaw. "Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit, Domenic?"

  "Nope." My father gazed at me with pride. "Sal will find Eddie's killer, mark my words. She's like a dog with a bone when it comes to sniffing out death." He puffed out his chest. "She gets it from her old man."

  My face began to warm. "Uh, Dad, you're giving me way too much credit. Sure, I've helped with a few cases, but I'm no detective."

  He acted as if he hadn't heard me. "Linda, I think it would be a good idea for Sal to ask your employees some questions."

  "Excuse me." Brian's voice was tinged with annoyance. "If it's all right with you, Domenic—and Sally—I'll ask the questions. Mrs. Phibbins, who else here did embalming besides your husband?"

  "Everyone who works here knows the process," Linda said. "Eddie made sure that all the employees were properly trained."

  "Even yourself?" Brian asked.

  She hung her head. "No. Eddie wanted me to learn, but I refused." She glanced from Brian to my father and me then shut her eyes as if grasping for the right words. "I'm afraid I haven't always been as supportive of the funeral home as I should have. It was Eddie's passion, not mine. I helped with accounting sometimes or answered phones, but that's about it. It just wasn't my cup of tea."

  "Not everyone has the talent or stomach for it," my father added.

  Linda shot him a surly look and continued. "Eddie once told me that I was a coward. But I can't help it. Death isn't in my blood."

  I couldn't believe that I was sitting here listening to this conversation, and apparently, neither could Brian. His mouth opened and then shut in a robotic manner. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Who are your other employees? We'll need to get a hold of them and question everyone."

  Linda blew her nose into the handkerchief. "It's a small staff. There's Zach Stevens, our doorman. He was driving the hearse up until last year, but his eyesight isn't that great anymore. When Wally was hired as a driver, Eddie had Zach change to doorman, which he wasn't very happy about. As for myself, I stay behind and make conversation with mourners who don't take the trip to the cemetery. People like to linger, you know."

  "Anyone else?" Brian asked.

  "Charlene Jones, our cosmetologist, and Wally Watson, who I already mentioned." She stared down at her hands. "He's not here anymore."

  "You mean he's dead?" I asked.

  Linda gave a bitter laugh. "Don't I wish."

  My father snorted. "Eddie told me all about that scam artist, Linda. He had some nerve."

  "Perhaps one of you would care to enlighten me," Brian said calmly.

  Linda held up a hand before my
father could continue. "Wally worked as a part-time driver for us," she explained. "When Eddie caught him stealing, he fired him." Her nostrils flared. "He was selling our urns on eBay. Can you believe it?"

  "They weren't already used, were they?" my father asked. "I mean, that would be in extremely bad taste."

  I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. If you asked me, this entire conversation was in bad taste.

  "The name is familiar," Brian remarked. "I think he may have been arrested right before I went on vacation."

  "Oh yes." Linda nodded. "Eddie was so upset that he pressed charges. Wally tried to claim that we'd never paid him and that Eddie said he could take the urns in exchange. His wife was so mortified that she left him shortly afterwards. Wally put Eddie through hell."

  "So where is Wally now?" I asked, ignoring Brian's frown.

  "He's out on bail, awaiting trial. The man is pure evil. He even accused Eddie of flirting with his wife. The whole thing was just ridiculous," she huffed.

  Brian looked up from his tablet. "Were there any other women interested in your husband that way, Mrs. Phibbins?"

  She looked at Brian as if he had corn growing out of his ears. "Are you kidding? He had many admirers. Eddie was handsome as all get out."

  Brian cocked an eyebrow but didn't reply. We all knew that Linda was stretching the truth a bit. Mom often compared my father to George Clooney, so it was possible that both she and Linda were infatuated with their spouses. Looks weren't everything, and inside a person was what really counted. Nevertheless, Eddie had been lacking a bit in the George Clooney department, with his long, angular face, and enormous, pear-shaped ears that contained more hair inside them than on top of his actual head. Sadly, the only famous George that Eddie resembled was Curious George.

  "A great man," my father said in a husky voice. "He'd do anything for a person in need. Why, there was a woman who couldn't pay for her mother's funeral last year. He knew she didn't have the money and told her to give him what she could afford. Remember, Linda?"