twenty-nine

The Papadopoulos Funeral Home was in an old Victorian house one street off of Main and several blocks east of Town Hall in a historic area of Brownsburg. Since it wasn’t located directly on Main, the Papadopoulos family had purchased the rundown house between it and the chief thoroughfare in the 1960s, cleared the lot and paved it for parking. The grand old mansion then looked like it was a part of the Main Street corridor. Over the years, Papadopoulos’s had become the place to have a funeral. Francine remembered Charlotte’s report on rumors that the funeral home was having difficulties and was for sale. She hoped not. It was part of the fabric of the community.

The parking lot had a fair number of cars in it, but it was not full by any means. Must be a small funeral tonight, Francine thought.

“Is that Eric’s car over there?” Charlotte asked, pointing to a blue Mustang parked in a dark corner of the lot.

“Looks like it.”

“Park. Let’s go in and find him.”

“I’m not dressed for a funeral,” Francine protested.

“It’s okay. We’re here to find Eric. He’s not here for the funeral, either.”

“What’s he here for? And how did you know he’d be here?”

“I think he’s here to see Myra Papadopoulos. I just don’t know what it’s about.”

“How do you know he’s here to see Myra?”

“There’s a certain pattern to Camille’s work. She was all about finding out secrets. I think she used them for blackmail. All she had to do was sit in a coffeehouse, troll around on the very public WiFi, and discover what people were doing. Most of it was probably droll. But every once in a while, she’d hit the jackpot. At least, she’d have to, to get all that money. I got to thinking, what’s worth that much to Fuzzy or Vince? It’d have to be pretty damning.”

“What about Janet Turpen?”

“Janet was on the sidelines. She got paid by Camille, not the other way around.”

“What does any of this have to do with Jacqueline Carter?”

“I think Camille was investigating that when she got killed. I think she smelled a new victim when it was clear Cass wasn’t going to sell the property she got in the divorce settlement. That property is worth a lot of money. It’s the last piece needed to develop that area at the interchange into a retail center. A lot of people want it to develop, including most of the Council.”

“So what’s the big secret that ties all of them together, and why would Eric seek out Myra?”

“Because he knows something about Cass Carter and Jacqueline Carter. It’s why he took off after we told him about the grave. Myra is her sister, and Camille had something on the Papadopouloses that Eric likely also knew. The two must be linked, but I have no idea how. Let’s go find out.”

The women exited the car. Francine looked back at Eric’s car. They were parked far enough away from it that she didn’t have a good view. “Wait,” she said, clutching Charlotte’s arm. “I thought I saw something in Eric’s car.”

Charlotte studied the scene. “It’s just shadows from that tree over there near the street light, the one with the spooky branches blowing in the wind.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sure it is. Let’s get inside and figure out what’s going on. I’m going to turn into a popsicle if we stay out here much longer. My buzz is already wearing off.”

The two of them walked arm in arm headed for the entrance, Francine steadying Charlotte where the sidewalk seemed a little slick. They both took in a breath as they reached the front steps that led up to the entrance. The spotlights in the yard lit up the old mansion in a sepia-toned way that daylight couldn’t.

“At night it’s almost like you can read the history of the house,” Francine said.

“Vince certainly has a good eye for restoration work,” Charlotte said, agreeing. “This is a pristine example of twentieth-century Victorian mansions.”

“I’ve always admired the fact that he preserved the diamond pane window,” Francine said. “I heard he had to re-create the gable fretwork.”

As the two stood there, a woman Francine recognized as a cheerleader from many years ago descended the steps with her husband. They nodded to Francine and Charlotte but didn’t attempt to engage in conversation. They reached the sidewalk and continued into the parking lot. The women watched them go.

Charlotte nudged Francine. “I’m nervous, too, but we can’t put this off. We need to go in.”

“You have a plan?” Francine asked.

She shook her head. “We’ll make it up as we go along. Just remember that no one’s likely to question us as to how well we know whoever’s dead. That would be impolite. This is Brownsburg after all.”

Francine hooked her arm solidly in Charlotte’s and they walked the steep steps from the street up to the front wraparound porch. The entry door was made of solid oak stained dark with an etched glass window that had lace curtains behind it. The light from the front parlor shone through the lace. Together they navigated the threshold.

They hung their coats on the rack that had been wheeled in for visitors to use. Francine had a brainstorm. “We’re here to see about Camille’s funeral tomorrow, right? Mary Ruth is catering, and she sent us here to see what the setup is. That way we can talk our way into the rest of the house if we don’t see Eric out front.”

Charlotte’s brow creased as she considered it. “It’s a bit late in the evening to be claiming that, but we’ll go with it. The first thing to do is get our name on the guest list and see what the old guy looks like. Get the lay of the land.”

Francine glanced around the room, checking to see who she knew. They were in the foyer next to the parlor. The parlor was always where they placed the casket and rows of chairs for people to sit. The receiving line didn’t stretch into the foyer, so it was easy to walk up to the guest book and sign it without being seen. Francine wanted to start looking after that, but Charlotte stuck her head in the parlor. “Eric’s not in there,” she whispered, after scanning the crowd for him. “Let’s snoop. You have to use the restroom, don’t you? I know I do.”

Francine nodded. “Nothing makes me need to use the toilet quite like snooping through an old house searching for an elusive stripper and clues as to why Camille Ledfelter was murdered at a fund-raiser featuring half naked men.”

“Don’t get snippy, Francine. You know why I asked. There’re restrooms in the back.”

The two went past the coatrack and into the back part of the house. The hallway was long and had several sets of doors on each side. The first two rooms were across from each other and had placards marking Men and Women. Charlotte reached for the antique crystal doorknob on the dark wooden door marked Women. She rattled it but didn’t actually turn the knob to open it. “Too bad it’s already occupied,” she said with a wink. “We’ll have to look farther for another.”

They were headed for the next entryway when they heard a noise in a room with a closed door. Whatever was inside, it was clacking in a mechanical way, as though some machine were operating. Charlotte put an ear to the door, listening. She seemed to make an instant decision. Glancing both ways down the hall to make sure no one would see them, she turned the knob and went in.

Francine swiftly followed on Charlotte’s heels, anxious to get out of the hall where she might be seen. The room was dark and she eased the door shut behind them.