Chapter 13
Somehow my mother had managed to talk me into attending Ian’s birthday party. She was having it at her house, and as I lived there, too, I was hard put to come up with a good excuse to avoid it. For that reason, my mother didn’t have to ask me any more than, well, about fifty times. Finally, I agreed.
I was getting ready for the event when I heard Mom calling me. “Laurel, did you have a meeting at the funeral home?”
I went out of my room and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. “No, why?”
“There’s someone there,” she said. I went back into my room and looked out of my window. Sure enough, a long black sedan was parked outside the funeral home. I couldn’t see anyone behind the wheel, so I assumed they were up on the front porch, ringing the doorbell.
“Who is it?” my mother asked from downstairs.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll go find out.”
I pulled on some socks and shoes, and hurried to the funeral home. A large man in a black suit stood on the porch. He turned to face me. “Ah, I should have figured you didn’t have to work on weekends,” he said with a slimy smile. He offered me his hand, and I shook it slowly and briefly.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Surely you know who I am?” His round, bald head tilted to one side.
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“Your father didn’t speak of me?”
“I don’t know what your name is,” I said politely.
“My name is David Dunne.” When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. “I own Dunne Funeral Home in Tamworth.”
Dunne Funeral Home was a bigger, glitzier, and in my opinion, tackier funeral home that did triple the business of my place.
“Oh yes,” I said icily. “What can I do for you, Mr. Dunne?”
“Please, colleagues should call me David,” he said, “especially colleagues I am suing.”
“Suing?”
“I thought I would come up and speak with you before our lawyers got involved. You do have a lawyer, yes? But the short version is, I came up with the so-called celebrity funerals first, and as such, you stole my idea, and you’re profiting from it. I plan on getting my cut of that profit, and I’m sure you’ll agree I’m entitled to it.”
I was furious. “You’re not entitled to anything. You can’t own an idea.”
“Ah,” the man said, holding his finger up, “so you do admit I had the idea first?”
“What? No!” I said. “I’m just saying that you can’t own an idea, even if you had it first, which you didn’t. I came up with the idea. Anyway, ideas are not subject to copyright.”
David Dunne laughed and shook his head. “Your celebrity funerals are disasters.”
“If you think they’re disasters, then why do you want a piece of them?”
“It’s owed to me.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
The man stepped forward. “Let me tell you something, missy, your father and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but we respected one another. You’re just a little girl bumbling her way through a business idea of mine, and I’m not going to allow that.”
“Get off my property now,” I said angrily.
“I know your type.”
“My type?” I said icily.
“Your type. You’re making such a mess of things you can’t keep the business going, so you’re grasping at straws. I did the service for the funeral singer who was murdered here. They came to me, because everyone knows what a mess your place is.”
That stung. “You’re a bully, and you need to leave,” I said. “Now!”
The man stared at me for a while, and then he smiled thinly. “You can expect a call from my lawyers.” He left the porch and got into his car. I stood on the top step and watched him drive down the road.
I went back home, fury causing my body to shake.
Mom was standing at the door, waiting for me to return. “What was it?”
“Nothing,” I lied. I went inside and shut the door, but had not gone more than three steps when there was a knock on the door. I hoped it wasn’t David Dunne.
I opened the door to see John Jones. This was infinitely worse than David Dunne. John was sexist, rude, and boring. When I had first moved back home, my mother had tried to set me up with John Jones. There were no prizes for guessing that John went to her church.
“Are you ready, Laurel?” John asked.
I was puzzled. “Ready for what?”
“Ian’s party,” Mom said from behind me. “You needed a date, and I invited John to be your date.”
And so I found myself in one of those moods where I was pretty sure I was just going to burn down the house and the funeral home and become a drifter, hitchhiking and jumping trains as I went from town to town, just so I didn’t have to be around my mother any more. I closed my eyes and counted to about one million in the hope that the feeling would pass.
“Hi, John,” I said when I opened my eyes. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue, so I was just going to suffer through John Jones, my mother, and Ian, the birthday boy.
Twenty or so other people arrived just after John, as did Ian, with a woman I assumed was his girlfriend, the adventurous one. She did not go to Mom’s church.
“Thank you so much for coming!” Ian said to all and sundry. “This is my girlfriend, Audrey.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Audrey said.
I smiled. “I feel like I’ve already met you,” I said before I could stop myself, thinking back to the times I had heard Ian discussing his girlfriend with my clueless mother.
The woman looked at me strangely, so I modified my original statement. “I mean, Ian has told me so much about you, that I feel like I’ve already met you.” Audrey appeared to be normal, which wasn’t something I could say for Ian, my mother, or John.
“Oh!” Audrey said. “That’s nice.”
Ian interrupted her and introduced Janet.
“Oh, so you’re the one who’s living in sin with Ian?” Janet said. “You’re much better-looking than Ian, and not as weird. I would have thought you could do much better.” She smiled and walked away.
Audrey froze, a shocked expression on her face. I figured she was trying to decide whether or not Janet’s words were a compliment.
“Don’t mind Janet,” I said quietly. “She’s nice—she doesn’t mean things to come out like that.”
Audrey still appeared to be shaken. “Err, can I get you something to drink?” she asked me.
“I’ll do that,” John said, stepping forward. “This is a date, so that’s my job.” He looked at me. “Punch?”
“Yes, I’d like to,” I said sweetly. “Right in the head, and hard enough to knock you out.”
Mom glared at me and reached over, pinching my arm. “Rude!” she whispered.
“Yes, punch, please,” I said to a confused John. He nodded and walked over to the big bowl on a long table against the wall.
John stayed glued to me like he was afraid I would vanish into thin air if he took his eyes off me, and to be honest, there was a good chance that I would. At the very least, every ten minutes or so, one of the people I spoke to said something to make me reconsider the whole train hopping drifter thing.
I huddled into a corner and tried to make myself invisible. I thought about my earlier meeting with David Dunne. I wondered if he’d had something to do with Preston Kerr’s death. The murder had certainly been driving business his way, and he sure seemed like the kind of man who would do anything to come out on top. I had to add him to my list of suspects, the one I went over and over in my head. Still, I was worried he was on my list because I didn’t like him. Anna was on my list for the same reason. But no, he really did have something to gain, and at the very least, I needed to look at him and see if he fitted with any of the other clues. I wasn’t anywhere close to solving Preston’s murder.
“Laurel,” I heard Mom’s voice screech. “Laurel! Laurel!”
I reluctantly left my corner and went over to Mom. “Your date has been looking for you, Laurel!” she said loudly. “I can’t believe you abandoned your date! What did I ever do to deserve a daughter like you? I hope one day you have a daughter as horrible as yourself. Then you will realize just how I’ve suffered.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Mom, John Jones is not my date. He never was my date, and he will never be my date!”
The sound of collective gasps drew my attention. I looked around at Mom’s friends, all of whom were clearly horrified. They at once averted their eyes and whispered to each other. I could make out the words of those closest to me. They were saying I was an ungrateful daughter and a rude woman, and they wondered how Mom managed to put up with me. In general, they were all sorry for Mom. I was furious. She always managed to make me look like the bad one.
I was about to storm off to my room, but Ian was blocking my way. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by gifts. “It’s time for me to open my presents!” he announced.
I sighed. It looked as if I would have to stay a bit longer. Perhaps I could go to the funeral home and lie inside a casket. At least no one would find me there.
Ian gleefully reached for a gift. “Oh, the first one’s from Thelma and Laurel,” he said, tearing the wrapping paper into shreds.
I thought it was nice that my mother had put my name on the card along with hers. That sentiment did not last long.
Ian held up a book to murmurs of appreciation. The title was Deliverance from the Demon Alcohol: A How-to Exorcism Book for Beginners.
Everyone turned to look at me.
“I thought that would be useful, Ian,” mother said, nodding to me.
“I rarely drink!” I protested.
“Those possessed by the Demon Alcohol are always in denial,” a woman standing next to Mom said, and her words drew a chorus of “Amen!”