My mother and Grandma Rosa were seated at the kitchen table when I dropped Cookie off an hour later. "Is Dad taking a nap in his coffin?" I asked.
My mother put down the Cosmopolitan magazine she'd been reading and refilled her coffee cup. "No. He's upstairs lying down because he's not feeling well. I hope it's not the flu."
Grandma Rosa, who was bouncing Cookie on her knee, grunted. "Perhaps it is the three pieces of cheesecake that he ate earlier. If that man had one more bite, he would have busted a move."
"I think you mean gut, Grandma."
She shrugged. "I like that too."
I placed two bottles in the fridge for Cookie when my father's voice boomed from up above. "Is that my baby girl? Both my baby girls?"
"Sal's getting ready to leave, sweetheart," my mother called and then turned to me. "Where'd you say you were going? I thought you and Mike were coming to dinner."
I hesitated. Even if my father wasn't feeling well, he still might want to tag along to the funeral home, and I preferred that it only be Josie and me. "To run a quick errand. Mike's working late, but he'd love it if you'd save him some lasagna. It will just be Cookie and me for dinner."
My father appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in one hand and his cell in the other. His face was pale, and his eyes looked glassy. He held out his phone to me. "I think you'll want to take this."
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Terry Phibbins. Linda and Eddie's son. He finally returned my call."
I took the phone from my father's outstretched hand and walked into the living room with him following. "Hello, Mr. Phibbins? This is Sally Donovan, Domenic's daughter. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," a deep male voice replied. "Forgive me, but I'm not really clear as to why your father keeps calling me."
"Dad was a friend of your father," I explained. "He's looking into his death, and I'm helping."
There was a pause on the other end. "I thought Domenic ran some kind of morgue-related blog. My father mentioned it once. I didn't realize you were both detectives,"
"Actually, I'm—no, we're not. You see, I've been involved in a couple of murder investigations before, so Dad asked if I'd help him." A second too late, I realized how peculiar this must have sounded but continued rambling on. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it home for your father's funeral."
"Look, Mrs. Donovan. If you must know, my father and I weren't close. I feel awful about what's happened, but my mother understands that I can't be there, and she's fine with it."
"That's not why I wanted to speak with you." It wasn't any of my business, but I couldn't fathom how an only child wouldn't travel home for his father's funeral, despite their differences. Nothing would have stopped me from making the trip. It was a matter of respect as far as I was concerned, but everyone might not feel the same way. "Are you close with your mother?"
Terry sighed impatiently. "Yes. We talk weekly. She and I aren't of the same mindsight as my father. We never have been. Mom can't stand the funeral business, and to be honest, it's always given me the creeps. Growing up, my dad worked side by side with my grandfather, and I was expected to help at times. Little things like opening the door for viewers, then watching him embalm and such. I hated everything about the place, and my friends always teased me to no end. I mean, how would you feel if your father drove you to school in a hearse every day? Oh, never mind. I'm sure you have no idea what it's like."
I glanced over at my father, who was downing half the bottle of Pepto-Bismol. "Try me. You might be surprised."
"I'm sorry?"
I wasn't going there. "Never mind. Mr. Phibbins, err, Terry, my father and I thought you might be able to give us information that would help determine who killed your father."
"Haven't you talked to my mother?" Terry sounded surprised.
"Yes. She thinks it may have been one of your father's employees, but no one's been able to prove anything. I wondered if you had some insight."
He was silent for a beat. "No, I don't. This has been a horrible experience for her. She only wants to sell the place and be done with it all."
"I can understand that, especially since it wasn't doing well."
"Wait a second. The funeral home is having money problems?"
"You didn't know?" I asked in disbelief.
"My mother never said a word." Terry's voice took on a suspicious note. "Why does my uncle want to buy the place if it's not profitable?"
I clutched the phone tighter in my hand. "That's what I was wondering. This sounds terrible, but do you think that your uncle could be responsible for his death?"
"No," he said sharply. "I can't believe Uncle Arthur would do that to my father. I mean, it's his brother, for crying out loud. His flesh and blood. Sorry, I just don't see it."
Sadly, I could. I'd seen relatives, siblings, and spouses all commit the deed before. "He wanted the funeral home badly," I said carefully. "Now he finally has what he wants."
"It has to be someone else." He cursed under his breath. "Now I wish I'd come out last month like I'd planned. See, I was in a wedding for a friend who got married in New York City. I thought about stopping to see my parents for a couple of days, but Mom said it wasn't a good time. I just assumed that they were busy and left it at that."
The piece of paper Charlene mentioned earlier came to mind. "Your father was upset with someone shortly before he died. One of his employees overheard him talking on the phone to someone, asking them how they could do such a thing. Any idea who it might have been?"
"What about the guy who was stealing my father's property? Walt or Wally something. Maybe it was him."
"Sure, that's possible." If we knew what the document was Eddie had been holding, it might lead us to his killer. "What about your father's gambling problem?"
Terry barked out a laugh. "You've got to be kidding me. My father has never had a gambling problem. Jeepers, he found me playing cards with some friends when I was fifteen and grounded me for six months. Dad said it was sinful and I should be ashamed of myself. You must be thinking of someone else."
Okay, this was odd. I tried another direction. "Did your father ever teach you or your mother to do embalming??"
"Yes, I knew how, but I hated it. Just like I hated everything else about the business. As for my mother, no. Dad tried to teach her once, and she passed out. It's not for the faint of heart."
I believed him.
Terry spoke to someone in the background. "Look, I'm sorry, but my wife and I have dinner plans with her boss, and we're already running late. I'll give Mom a call and see if she's got any information that may help."
"That's not necessary—" Before I could say anything further, Terry clicked off.
My father was watching me with a concerned expression on his usually jovial-looking face. "What do you think, baby girl?" he asked.
I handed the phone back to him. "I think I'm confused. Someone's lying, Dad, but who? Did Eddie have a gambling problem or not? If Eddie wasn't stealing from his clients, someone else was doing it. What if he found out and confronted them? Maybe that's why the funeral home was doing poorly." I thought about the document Charlene had seen him holding. "Did Eddie take out a second mortgage on the funeral home?"
Dad shrugged. "I doubt it. He was so proud of the fact that the place was paid off."
Grandma Rosa came into the living room, followed by my mother, who was holding Cookie. "Are you sure about that?" I asked.
"Positive," he said. "Of course, that was his father's doing. It was paid off before he took ownership." He gazed at me thoughtfully. "Seems to me that someone did Eddie wrong, he found out, and they killed him before he could make trouble."
"It's a good theory." I gave Cookie a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I need to leave, but I'll be back in about an hour."
My mother spoke up. "Grandma's going to church, so I'll stay here with Cookie. We'll eat as soon as you both get back."
"Sounds good." Cookie started to giggle, and I remembered Mike's comment how her face lit up whenever she saw me. Her smile was brighter than a ray of sunshine, and it tugged at my heart. Something told me that I shouldn't leave her, but maybe it was just me being overprotective. She was perfectly safe here, and I would be fine too. After all, Josie was coming to meet me.
As I dug my keys out of my purse, I addressed my father. "Do you still happen to have a key to Phibbins?"
He took it off his keyring and handed it to me. "I'm not sure this is still good. Linda said that Arthur was going to change the locks this week."
"Wow, Arthur moves fast."
Grandma Rosa sniffed. "Something is rotten in the state of Denver."
"That's Denmark, Grandma."
She looked puzzled. "Since when is Denmark a state?"
My father snorted. "Something's rotten, for sure. When I talked to Linda on the phone this morning, she said that Arthur was eager to start the transfer. I'm not sure how it could happen so fast, but maybe they'll do it on the honor system for now."
"If the place is free and clear of debt and the will's been read, I'm guessing she could do as she pleases." I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do next. If the locks had been changed, was there still a way for me to get in? "Do you think Zach might be there? I need to have a quick talk with him."
My father checked his watch. "It's possible. I mean, the old codger practically lives there." His face suddenly contorted with pain. "Sorry but I think you'll have to go without your old man, baby girl. My Pepto just kicked in."
Ew. "It's okay, Dad."
"Poor sweetie," my mother crooned. "He's been under so much stress lately."
"Let me know what you find out." Dad made a beeline for the stairs. He didn't need to know that I intended to break into Eddie's office if necessary. My father might not appreciate that information.
After giving my baby daughter another kiss, I headed for the front door and felt a hand on my shoulder. My grandmother was standing there watching me, concern etched into her face. The fine wrinkles that surrounded her dark brown eyes were more apparent than usual as she regarded me in silence. She picked up a light sweater and followed me out to the driveway.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Cara mia, I hope you know what you are doing."
Her perception never ceased to amaze me. "I'm just having a talk with Zach. Besides, Josie will be there. Please don't worry."
"But I always worry. Danger follows you. Keep Josie close."
"I will."
She blew me a kiss as I walked over to my car, parked on the street. Grandma Rosa was still standing beside her Buick in the driveway, her eyes trained on me, as I drove away. For once, I hoped that her instincts would prove wrong.