Ruth's funeral was eerily similar to Les's. The same church, same minister. I drove Gwen and Mariana to the service and found many of the same people there. Gwen and I were wearing the same dark suits. I was sure we would find many of the same women serving tea at the reception after the service.
But the differences were heartbreaking. Where Ruth had been with her mother at Les's funeral, today her mother, Carol, walked to the front of the church escorted by a middle-aged woman who seemed to be almost holding her up. Carol's face was haggard. I could almost see Ruth's tall, slim ghost following her mother to the front of the church.
There were more people attending this funeral. Some younger people, likely friends of Ruth, sat together. They whispered quietly, their faces streaked with tears. They looked uncomfortable, unfamiliar with the funeral service.
I hadn't seen Aaron at Les's service, but he was here for Ruth's. I saw his bulky frame a few rows in front of us. His partner, Kevin, sat beside him. I caught sight of D'Onofrio as he slipped into the back of the church just as the service started. He nodded at me, with what might have been a smile on his face. I smiled back and then turned around quickly as the music started.
I had hoped to get through the service without breaking down the way I had at Les's funeral. But I thought of the way Ruth had moved around after the service for Les, organizing things and greeting people in a friendly manner. Then I remembered finding her body in the vomit-covered office. It was hard enough losing my mother, but I couldn't imagine the grief Carol must feel at losing her daughter. Tears filled my eyes, and I tried to wipe them away. Gwen patted my hand. Mariana reached over and placed her arm around my shoulders. They were comforting gestures, but they reminded me again that my mother was gone. I could feel the tears spilling over and running down my cheeks.
“Do you want to leave?” Mariana whispered to me.
I shook my head. “No, I'm okay,” I whispered back. “I just can't stop thinking about poor Ruth. And Carol. I can't imagine what Carol must be going through.”
I suddenly remembered that she had lost her daughter too, if she was really Amy's mother. But she didn't say anything. She simply patted my arm in a motherly way, and we turned our attention back to the service. I would have to try to be more tactful. I wouldn't want to bring up painful memories for Mariana.
The reception after the service was more crowded than Les's had been. There were the same sandwiches, the same women from the church serving tea. But it was livelier and noisier. The young people were shocked and grief-stricken. They cried as they hugged each other. But their natural exuberance soon took over and they started to chat together, sending text messages to friends who were not there and reading them to each other.
“Could you excuse me for just a minute?” Gwen said. “I just want to check if they need any help in the kitchen.” She hurried off to the other end of the hall.
I turned to Mariana. She was wearing a black suit today, very different from the flowered purple dress she had worn to Les's service. The color was a bit too harsh for her complexion and the fabric stretched tightly against her hips. The purple had been more flattering on her but maybe she had decided it was too bright for a funeral. Or maybe it was just at the cleaners or in the wash. Or maybe she just wanted to wear something different.
“You both brought baking again,” I said. “Do you think I should have brought something?”
She shrugged. “There seems to be plenty of food, although with all these young people it might go fast. It's too late to worry about more now. And I hope we won't be going to many more funerals. Gwen and I both like to cook. She's always bringing cakes or cookies to the co-op meetings.”
“Yes,” I answered. “Ruth mentioned that Gwen quite often brought stuff for the office staff to eat. In fact, I think she had brought something the last time I talked to Ruth.”
I spoke without thinking but Mariana's gasp made we realize what I had just said.
“Did you mention that to the police?” she asked.
“No, of course not. I'd forgotten until just now.” I could feel myself growing cold. “But I don't even know for sure if Gwen gave her anything the day she died.”
“But she could have. It's worth finding out,” Mariana insisted.
“Even if she did, there couldn't have been anything wrong with food that Gwen brought. That's ridiculous.”
“She wouldn't do anything intentionally, I'm sure. But people get food poisoning all the time, in restaurants or wherever. You're always hearing about food recalls. I'm sure there are lots of things that could go wrong when you're buying ingredients or cooking.”
“That's a comforting thought!”
“I still think you should mention it to that handsome young police officer. He might be around. I saw him at the service
Gwen bustled up then, dusting off her hands.
“Everything seems to be under control in there. I don't know why I even asked. Those women from the church do these kinds of things all the time. They must be experts by now. I did put out another plate of the pastries I brought. The other ones were all gone.”
She stopped talking and looked at us.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Gwen,” I asked. “Did you bring any food to Ruth on the last day she was in the office, the day before we found her?”
“Yes, of course.” She looked at Mariana. “You know I like to bring treats to meetings, and quite often I brought something to the staff. On that day I knew she was working very hard, trying to do her job and Les's. I knew it would be hard for her. I left some muffins for her in the office, with a little note to thank her. I stopped in later to ask if I could make her something for lunch but she said she had enough.”
She smiled at us tentatively. “Why are you asking?”
“Gwen,” I asked. “Is there any chance there was something in the muffins that made Ruth sick?”
“What? No, of course not. Do you think she died because of my muffins? There was nothing wrong with them. I ate some myself for breakfast. They were lovely.” She was talking faster and I could tell she was very upset.
“Unless she had allergies. Let me think. Did I use nuts in those muffins? No, I'm sure not. So many people have allergies.”
I patted her arm. “No, I'm sure it's not your fault. But perhaps you should mention it to Sergeant D'Onofrio. They're probably trying to sort out what Ruth ate that day. But just to rule it out.”
“I'll find him right now. I saw him earlier. I'll see if he's still here.”
“Hi, fellow co-op members.” Jeremy had come up behind us. “What's up?”
“I believe Rebecca just accused Gwen of killing Ruth,” Mariana said. “Excuse me. I think I'll go find her and see if she's all right.”
Jeremy was looking at me with a curious look on his face. “What's she talking about?”
“It appears Gwen baked some muffins for Ruth the morning before she died.”
“What? But that's just Gwen. She's always baking things. If I ate all the stuff she brings to the board meetings, I'd weigh 300 pounds. But no way she'd hurt Ruth.”
Aaron loomed up behind us. Kevin hovered behind him.
“So now you're telling people that Gwen had something to do with Ruth's death. And you told that police officer that I got to the office before you.”
“You did get to the office before me, Aaron.” I tried to keep my voice calm.
“That's not how I remember it.” His voice was getting louder. “It seems you're just looking around for anyone to blame. First me, then Gwen. But everyone knows we never had any problems before you moved in!”
He was yelling by then. His face was red and veins were standing out on his neck and forehead. People were turning to stare at us. I backed a step away from him.
Kevin was patting Aaron's arm and trying to calm him down.
“Now, now, Aaron,” he was saying. “I know you're upset but it's not Rebecca's fault.”
Jeremy joined him in trying to calm Aaron down.
“Let's go outside,” Jeremy said. “I bet you're dying for a cigarette, aren't you.”
Jeremy and Kevin urged Aaron outside. People in the crowd stared at me for a moment, and then they started to chat to each other again.
I saw Mariana coming towards me, and I walked over to meet her.
“Gwen's upset. We couldn't find that police officer,” she said. “She wants to phone him and tell him about the muffins but she doesn't want to do it from here.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “I'll just go get the car.”
She looked me in the eye. “No, Rebecca, she's really upset. I think it's better if I just take her home in a taxi. She just wondered if you could bring her platter back to the co-op. It's on the table with the last of the pastries on it. She has her name written on a piece of tape on the bottom.”
“Yes, of course I'll bring it. But I could just get it now and put the pastries on another plate. I could drive you both home right now.”
“Rebecca, I don't think she wants to see you right now. She'll get over it. I know you didn't really mean to make it sound like she killed Ruth, but that's what she thought you were saying.”
“But you—”
I broke off as she patted my shoulder. “It'll be fine. But I should get back to her and get her home. I'll talk to you later.”
I stood alone in the middle of the room, cursing myself. I usually thought of myself as sensitive and considerate of other people. But I certainly hadn't handled that well.
I thought back to our conversation. I'd been certain that Mariana had first brought up the idea. And I'd thought she was suggesting that we tell D'Onofrio about it. But that was silly. She did mention food poisoning in general. She'd certainly been concerned about Gwen. Another example of me just charging in, trying to find something out without thinking it through. Fools rushing in.
I seemed to be working on ruining my relationship with the few people in the co-op I'd hoped were becoming my friends. And there certainly were enough people in the co-op who were ready to dislike me. I didn't need more.
I thought about leaving. But I still hadn't paid my respects to Ruth's mother, Carol. I hoped she hadn't noticed the commotions I'd caused with Aaron and Gwen.
I found Carol standing with the same woman she'd been with in the church.
I took her hand. “I'm so sorry for your loss,” I said, knowing the conventional words couldn't begin to help. I thought about Ben and tried to imagine how I would feel if anything happened to him. I didn't really even want to think about it. How could this woman cope with the loss of her daughter?
I wasn't sure Carol would remember me from Les's funeral, but she turned to the woman who stood beside her. “Would you mind fetching me a cup of tea?” she asked.
“Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. You must be dying for one.”
As she headed to the side of the room where the women from the church were serving coffee and tea, Carol took my arm and led me over to some chairs.
“Do you mind if we sit down a moment?” she asked. “I've been standing for hours and I'm not really used to these shoes. You're from that co-op, aren't you,” she went on. “What's going on at that place?” She looked at me with some urgency.
“I don't really know. The police are looking into it. I know Ruth said that Les had been worried about something before he died. But, maybe both deaths were just accidents. The boxes fell on Les, and Ruth might have had food poisoning from something she ate.”
“They think it was mushrooms,” Carol said. “Apparently there are lots of them growing this time of year. They said people often mistake the poisonous ones for the edible wild mushrooms.” Her face was gray.
“Lots of people get sick,” she went on, “but they usually don't die. Ruth had a weak heart—a birth defect. She'd had surgery when she was a baby, and we thought she was fine. But the doctors said her heart just wasn't able to handle it when she started vomiting so violently.”
“Were they hallucinogenic?” I asked. “Or might she have thought they were?” Ruth was, after all, barely out of her teens and young people did often experiment with drugs. Then I mentally kicked myself for being tactless again. The last thing I wanted to suggest to a bereaved mother was that her daughter's death was her own fault.
“No, apparently not. Just some local poisonous toadstool thing,” she replied. “Anyway, Ruth might have tried drugs with her friends at a party. I'm not the kind of naïve mother who thinks their kids would never try drugs. But at work, at the office? Doesn't sound likely, does it? And she wasn't the kind of person who went out picking wild mushrooms under the trees. She was a typical city kid—thought food came from Safeway, if she had to think beyond believing it just turned up magically in the fridge.
“Besides, it's a bit of a coincidence, wouldn't you think?” she said, looking at me sceptically. “Two deaths in the same office?”
I realized how ridiculous I sounded, clinging to hope that my nice new home had not just been the site of two murders.
“Yes,” I agreed. “There's something going on. But I don't know what.”
“Les loved that place,” she said, smiling. “They didn't pay him a lot, but he was always talking about what a great community it was and how proud he was to be working at a place that was making a difference in people's lives.”
“Yes,” I said, smiling back at her. “I've heard Les talking about the co-op. And I was certainly very happy to find a home there. My father and son love it there. It really made a difference to our family, so I know why Les was so proud of the co-op. But now . . .”
“It was good for Ruthie too,” she said. “Oh, I probably shouldn't say that now, but she was happy working there. You may have noticed that Ruth's social skills weren't that great. When she was younger, I thought she was just shy, but recently she was diagnosed with mild autism. Perhaps Asperger's syndrome. She was getting tested, and we were looking at ways to help her cope better. But she's really good with numbers, and she's proud of being able to help Les sort out the books and the office.”
She stopped suddenly. “I can't stop talking about her as if she was still here. Isn't that silly? I wonder when it will sink in.
“Anyway, about the co-op . . . they were both happy there. But you're right, there was something bothering Les before he died. Something about someone who lived there or who used to live there. I never paid much attention.”
The woman who had been with Carol was coming back, carrying a teacup and a plate of small sandwiches. Carol hurried to finish what she was saying.
“Ruth used to laugh at him and say that there were problems with all the people in the co-op, that Les just couldn't see it. But after he died, she started to think about what he had said. When she went back to the co-op, she planned to look through the files to see if she could figure out what had been bothering him.”
“Did she?” I asked. “Did she know what was wrong?”
“I never found out what it was,” Carol said. “But I think she was figuring it out. My girl was never very good at understanding what makes people tick. But when she wanted to figure something out, she went at it without stopping. I talked to her the day she died. She called to tell me she was planning on working late. She said she had an idea about what was worrying Les. She told me not to bother with dinner for her. Someone had left her some food, so she wasn't hungry.”
“Did she say who had brought the food?” I asked. We knew Gwen had brought muffins earlier but someone else could have stopped by too.
She shook her head.
“Unfortunately not. The police asked that too.
“But you see,” Carol finished as the other woman approached us with the tea and sandwiches. “You might be clinging to the idea there were a couple of bad accidents in the co-op. But I know they were both murdered.”