Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) Read online

  Marriage Can Be Murder

  Every Wife Has A Story

  Praise for The Baby Boomer Mysteries

  “Moving Can Be Murder is another great read from an author who knows how to keep you turning pages as fast as possible. Susan Santangelo also provides a handy quiz to help readers determine their own right answers to the ‘moving’ question.” –Anne Holmes, “Boomer in Chief”

  National Association of Baby Boomer Women

  “This is a fun chick lit investigative tale starring Carol Andrews super sleuth supported by an eccentric bunch of BBs (baby boomers), the cop and the daughter. Carol tells the tale in an amusing frantic way that adds to the enjoyment of a fine lighthearted whodunit that affirms that “every wife has a story.” –Harriet Klausner, national book critic

  “The over-50 crowd will love this….I love this lighthearted mystery. Susan Santangelo combines humor and mystery to create a great read. I am so glad to see a female lead character over 50….This is a must read!” –Readers’ Favorite

  “Not since picking up one of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books have I ever laughed or enjoyed a book so much as Susan Santangelo’s Retirement Can Be Murder.” –Suspense Magazine

  “Santangelo … captures well the anxiety of a wife who must face the reality of her life turning upside down. Good thing she has her friends to help.” –Blog Critics

  “Finally a cozy mystery with a heroine who’s middle-aged, married, and a mother….What really makes Retirement Can Be Murder special is the author’s uncanny knack for finding humor in everyday situations…. One of the funniest cozies I’ve ever read, and yet all of the humor flows naturally from the characters, the plot, and the dialogue.”

  –Patricia Rockwell, Author of Sounds of Murder

  “Susan Santangelo may be the next Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer and amateur detective portrayed by Angela Lansbury in the award- winning television series Murder She Wrote…. Susan’s found a niche in the mystery-writing genre that just might find its way to the television screen, judging by the popularity of her first book, Retirement Can Be Murder.” –Shoreline Times

  “Moving Can Be Murder is jam-packed with Carol’s cast of best buds and signature Santangelo fun! As I watched the story unfold before me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at every turn…. Carol has learned the subtle art of keeping her mouth shut – when it’s absolutely necessary. However, that doesn’t stop her mind from working overtime with the quick-witted, sarcastic remarks she allows to roll around in her mind…. Santangelo has done it again. She has penned a magnificent cozy that will leave you panting from the excitement, laughing at the characters, and – no surprise here – begging for more.” –Terri Ann Armstrong, Author of How To Plant A Body

  “Moving Can Be Murder is a superb read!”

  –Lori Gondelman, Lori’s Reading Corner

  Marriage

  Can Be Murder

  Every Wife Has A Story

  A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery

  Third in the Series

  Susan Santangelo

  Marriage Can Be Murder

  A Baby Boomer Mysteries Press Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Baby Boomer Mysteries trade paperback edition/First Printing, July 2012

  PUBLISHED BY

  Baby Boomer Mysteries Press P.O. Box 1491, West Dennis, MA

  www.babyboomermysteries.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. Copyright 2012 by Susan Santangelo

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews of a critical nature.

  Cover and Book Design by Grouper Design, Yarmouthport, MA.

  Cover Art: Elizabeth Moisan

  ISBN 978-0-9857799-0-0

  I’d like to thank the following…

  My Personal Beloveds: Joe, Dave, Mark, Sandy, Jacob and Rebecca. You are all blessings in my life.

  Denise Hall, Frances McCarthy, and Molly McKeown, my Nantucket connections. Jamie Bohlin, Cape Cod wedding planner extraordinaire, for tips on planning a destination wedding. And who bears no resemblance whatsoever to the wedding planner in this book!

  Elizabeth Moisan, author of Master of the Sweet Trade, and talented artist, for the wonderful book cover.

  Donna Schaefer, my own personal Deanna.

  Melanie Lauwers, Cape Cod Times Book Editor, for her support of Cape Cod authors. Carole Goldberg, The Hartford Courant, for her support of Connecticut authors.

  The Paperback Cafe really exists, in the beautiful Connecticut shoreline town of Old Saybrook. Try the cafe’s pineapple bread – it’s delicious!

  The First Readers Club, especially Sandy Pendergast, Rhea Marrison, Kimberly White, and Marie Sherman.

  Marie Sherman, Cape Cod Justice of the Peace, and author of Say I Do! Wedding Tales of a Cape Cod Justice of the Peace, who shared her wedding expertise with me.

  Readers from all over the country who’ve been so positive about this series, and who’ve shared their own stories with me at countless book events and via the Internet.

  Everyone who e-mails me with chapter heading ideas. Keep them coming!

  Congratulations to Frances Hill, co-owner with Lynn Pray of Jake (Ch. Pineridge John Jacob Jackson) and Chance (GCH. Pineridge Jake’s Best Chance, RN), who won the raffle prize – to name two dogs in Marriage Can Be Murder. The raffle was held during the 2012 National English cocker dog show in Gettysburg, PA.

  A special shout-out to JoAnn Borsari, whose courage and grace inspired me to name a character in this book after her.

  Author’s Disclaimer: The scenes in the Nantucket police station are entirely figments of my overactive imagination, and I’m sure bear no resemblance whatsoever to what really happens there. I have it on good authority that the Massachusetts State Police does have a presence on Nantucket, however, and work in close collaboration with the local police to solve crimes.

  The Three Wise Wives

  Used a G.P.S.

  Arrived a day early with a case of Pampers and a dozen frozen casseroles.

  Helped deliver the baby.

  Brought a change of clothes for the new mother.

  Cleaned the stable.

  Changed the straw in the manger.

  Took care of the animals.

  Didn’t overstay their welcome.

  And there was peace on earth.

  Destination: Nantucket, Massachusetts

  Objective: A Plan For The Big Day.

  My bladder was calling to me. More and more urgently. I tried to ignore it, but I knew I couldn’t. After a certain age, it does tend to play an important role in a woman’s life.

  What did you expect, Carol? You had too many glasses of wine tonight. And not your usual spritzers, either.

  Sigh. I hate it when my conscience scolds me. But this time, it was way out of line. After all, how often does a mother get to plan the upcoming nuptials of both her children?

  But here we were – My Beloved Husband Jim, my darling daughter Jenny and her soon-to-be husband Mark, on the beautiful island of Nantucket to plan a double wedding during Christmas Stroll Weekend. The only downside to the weekend was that my adored son Mik
e and his bride Marlee, who were renewing their vows after eloping to Tahiti last spring, had to participate in the planning electronically via Skype. But I refused to let their absence spoil the weekend. They’d be here in December, and that’s what counted.

  All in all, the weekend was like a fairytale. Except for one thing.

  I had to admit that I was a little nervous about finding my way to the bathroom at the end of the darkened hallway of our quaint boutique hotel. In order to get there, I had to pass close by a circular staircase that, according to local legend, had claimed the life of one of the building’s early occupants back in the eighteenth century.

  Don’t be stupid, Carol. The hallway will be well lit. You’re not going to fall down the stairs.

  Easing myself out of the queen-sized canopy bed so as not to disturb Jim, I found my robe and slippers, gently opened the bedroom door, and crept down the hallway toward my salvation. As I passed the dreaded staircase, I pressed myself closer to the opposite wall. But I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek down the stairs, trying to imagine what had happened to another woman on a night so long ago.

  Good grief. I must be seeing things. A ghost, perhaps?

  At the bottom of the stairs was the inert form of a woman. I could see from the angle of her head that she was dead.

  And she was wearing a wedding veil.

  Chapter 1

  Marriage is finding that special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.

  “It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,” my husband Jim huffed. “Why do Jenny and Mark have to go to some godforsaken island to get married when they can be married here in Fairport and have the reception under a tent in our back yard? If our house was good enough to raise big bucks for the local women’s crisis center this summer, it’s good enough for them.”

  My back was turned away from him, so he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes.

  “First of all, dear, Nantucket is not some godforsaken island,” I countered as I rummaged in a kitchen cabinet looking for salad plates. “It’s been a special place for our family vacations for years. As you very well know.”

  I paused to gather my thoughts. Because I knew what Jim was really saying: “Why the hell do Jenny and Mark want to be married out of town when it would be so much cheaper to have the wedding here in Fairport?”

  “And these days, Jim, it’s an unwritten law that every couple is entitled to decide on all the details of their wedding themselves. Including the location. Unlike in our day, when our parents called all the shots. In case you’ve conveniently blocked all those memories from your mind.”

  Perhaps Jim didn’t remember how his mother, a.k.a. Momzilla (not that I ever called her that to her face, of course), made every single decision for our nuptials – invitations, venue, menu, guest list, my attendants, and MY WEDDING GOWN – with very little (correction: absolutely no) input from Jim and me.

  Not that I ever carry a grudge.

  No way was I going to let that happen to my darling daughter and her betrothed. Of course, I did reserve the right for constructive input when I was asked for it. Or, maybe, when I knew it was necessary. Helpful, even. After all, I’d been a bride, too. About a million years ago.

  “Of course I remember that our family’s been to Nantucket, Carol. Many times. But not for at least ten years, maybe more,” Jim said. “Since when did it become such a special place for Jenny and Mark?”

  He opened the kitchen cabinet to the left of the one I had searched. “This is where the salad plates are now, Carol. Remember, I designed an organization system in the kitchen after the remodeling, which makes everything much more efficient. I don’t know how you were able to accomplish anything with the way everything was just thrown in drawers and cabinets with no rhyme or reason.”

  I resisted reminding Jim that I had successfully produced meals for our family of four in this very kitchen – organized so that I knew where everything was – for over 30 years. Instead, I reminded myself that Jim had done something wonderful a few short months ago when he completely remodeled our antique home in Fairport, Connecticut, as a surprise for me, sparing me from a nightmare move to an active adult community.

  “Mark took Jenny to Nantucket to celebrate her birthday four months ago,” I said, moving aside so Jim could find those plates and I could get dinner on the table. “He knew she had lots of good memories from our family trips there when she and Mike were kids. And that’s where he asked her to marry him.”

  I paused, imagining that romantic moment. And sighed.

  “So, Nantucket is the logical place for them to get married.” At least, it was logical to them. And to me.

  “Logical?” Jim countered with the stubbornness that’s become his trademark. “The logical place for them to get married is in Fairport. Hell, they met in grammar school here.”

  Wise woman that I am after years of listening to his rants, I let him wind down and didn’t respond. I knew he wasn’t serious. Nothing was too good for his little girl. And if she wanted to be married on Nantucket, he’d go along with it. Embrace it. Maybe even convince himself that the location was his idea. He just needed some time to get used to the idea.

  I tuned him out and visualized the wedding. Jim, handsome in a tux. Teary-eyed, as he escorted Jenny down an aisle. Where? At a local church? At a Nantucket landmark like the Whaling Museum? No matter. All that counted was that it was happening at last, the wedding I’d been hoping (praying) for, ever since Jenny and Mark reconnected last year during a particularly stressful time in our family. (If you don’t know about that, I’ll tell you another time.)

  Jenny would be gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder princess gown. Modest cut. Mark would be appropriately nervous, shifting from foot to foot as Jenny walked toward him, carrying her bridal bouquet. Lucy and Ethel, our two English cocker spaniels, would prance down the aisle ahead of the bride, their collars decorated with flowers. One paw in front of the other.

  I was…well…. Memo to self: Lose those extra ten pounds around the middle sooner rather than later. You know how that goes, right?

  It would be perfect, in every way. I would see to that.

  I came back to earth when I heard Jim ask, “Do you think it would be warm enough in December for them to be married on Jetties Beach?

  “Then I won’t have to wear a tux.”

  Chapter 2

  My husband’s favorite tea is Constant Comment.

  I awoke the next morning and stretched carefully. And was immediately assaulted by a cramp in my right foot. Damn it! And I thought I was being so careful! Tears stung my eyes as I flexed my foot to relieve the pain. I was proud of myself for not screaming. Maybe I was growing up at last. But the older I got, the more aches and pains I seemed to have. First thing in the morning was usually the worst. Once I got up and got going, I was better.

  Sigh.

  I know this is a common complaint among women. At least, it is in my group. When I get together with Nancy, Claire and Mary Alice for lunch these days, it seems that all we talk about are health issues. Mary Alice, being a nurse, has harped on this stuff for years. But the rest of us, well, when we were kids growing up together, we never thought we’d be old. What happened? We sound like our mothers now!

  Despite the cramp in my foot, I could tell this was going to be a good day for two reasons. First, I had actually slept through the entire night, something I hadn’t done since menopause hit me quite a while ago. (And it’s none of your business how long ago that was.)

  And second, I could smell fresh coffee brewing. That meant Jim was already rustling around in the kitchen. Since he’d taken early retirement from Gibson Gillespie Public Relations in New York City last year, he’d assumed some of the household chores. Including making the morning coffee. In the beginning, truthfully, I resented his intrusion into what had traditionally been my turf. It seemed like he was sending me a message that he could do these things – laundry, for example – better than I did.

  I
wised up after I shared my resentment with my best friend Nancy, who wanted to know if she could rent his housekeeping services.

  Preliminary morning ablutions completed, I headed in the direction of the coffee. And what was that other heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen? It smelled like cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven.

  I was greeted by the welcome sight of the bride-to-be. And no Jim. A perfect opportunity for me to have a mother-daughter heart-to-heart about the coming nuptials, without my husband rolling his eyes at me and saying I was interfering.

  “Surprise, Mom,” said Jenny, giving me a peck on the cheek. “I don’t have a class to teach until eleven this morning, so I had time to stop at The Paperback Cafe and pick up some fresh pastries.” She moved a plate of warm goodies in my direction.

  Ignoring the fact that the waistband on my favorite sweatpants felt tighter than the last time I’d worn them, I gave in and snagged one. Jenny hopped off her stool and poured me a cup of coffee.

  “Where’s your father?” I asked. “He didn’t mention anything about leaving the house early today.”

  “He was here when I arrived,” Jenny said. “But I wanted to talk to you alone. I hinted that it might be a good time to take Lucy and Ethel for a long walk. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.”

  I stiffened. “Everything ok, sweetie?”

  “Fine, Mom. Really. But I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.” “Fabulous,” I said. “Because I wanted to talk to you about it, too.

  I’ve been looking at bridal magazines, and it’s never too soon to start shopping for a dress. And, of course, we have to find a place on Nantucket to have the ceremony. And the reception. There’s so much to do.”

  “There’s too much to do,” Jenny said. “I’m feeling overwhelmed. Mark and I are getting married on Nantucket because it’s such a special place for us, but none of us live there. We can’t make it work without help.