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Authors: Mary Jane Maffini
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new stockings in your drawer, glove compartment, and briefcase. You never know when you’ll need them.
5
As memorial services go, Miss Henley’s had a festive air. And why not? According to the latest rumor rocketing through Woodbridge, all the instructions were in her will, right down to choice of the organ music. If you believed the wagging tongues, Father Timothy wasn’t all that happy to take orders from beyond the grave. True? Who knows? But Saturday turned out to be an excellent day to hold a memorial. People sure made a point of getting there early to get the best seat. When Jack and I drove up in my Miata, it was impossible to find a place to park anywhere near St. Jude’s. Jack is the proud owner of an ancient Mini Minor in an alarming shade of mud brown. It is currently experiencing technical difficulties, so mine is always the vehicle of choice.
We circled the block three times before spinning off to find a spot four blocks away.
“Well, crap. I can’t believe it,” I said. “We’re a half hour early. Who are all these people? You’d think it was a rock concert from the crowd.”
Jack said, “Told you we should have biked.”
“Not in this outfit, buster.”
By the time we reached the wide stairs to the church, I was doing my best not to limp in my black suede pumps with the four-inch heels. Sally and Benjamin were right behind us.
“It’s the place to be,” Sally said merrily. She was one of those blondes who were born to wear black and she knew it. She fluffed her corkscrew curls as she spotted Todd Tyrell in the clump of media types surrounding the church.
A crowd flowed behind us and swept past up the stairs. Eager beavers took the stairs two at a time. We were lucky enough to elbow our way into the last pew. I recognized quite a few people, from school and just from living in Woodbridge. Kristee from Kristee’s Kandees, Mrs. Tang, and Margaret were sitting closer to the front. I saw the two constables who had come to Henley House, the paramedics, and a pixielike woman with a sleek ponytail who I finally recognized as Mona Pringle, former schoolmate and now emergency services operator. She gave me a conspiratorial wink. I really, really hoped that no one else had spotted that.
I could feel the buzz in the air, like a midnight madness sale at the Woodbridge Mall, a swirl of excitement that seemed just plain wrong at a memorial service. Especially when the service was for someone whose body I’d found myself.
To add to the buzz, there was plenty of police presence. Sally elbowed me and pointed toward Pepper and her husband, the noted boy toy, Nick Monahan.
“There he is, God’s gift to the girls,” Sally snickered.
I kept my mouth firmly shut. The less said about Nick Monahan the better. But there was a good reason he’d earned the nickname “Nick the Stick.” It was just hard to believe that Pepper, with all her guts and brainpower, couldn’t see past that handsome face and athlete’s body. It had cost her my friendship. What else would it cost her?
“Bed-hopping slacker,” Jack said cheerfully.
Sally added a bit too loudly, “I suppose they deserve each other.”
Benjamin turned his head and furrowed his teddy-bear face. “Sally, for heaven’s sake. We’re in church.”
Pepper turned around at that exact moment.
Sally caught her breath.
I felt myself blanch.
Benjamin whispered, “When will you two learn a bit of control?”
Luckily Pepper’s attention was diverted by the arrival of several elderly women, in navy skirts and sweaters, wearing large crosses. They could only be nuns, in those outfits. I remembered some of the faces from St. Jude’s. It wasn’t like nuns to be late, but I figured this batch was probably from out of town. They were being ushered toward the front of the church to join the rest.
Although the new arrivals seemed quite solemn, even the somber church and the nature of the event couldn’t mask the upbeat mood of the congregation.
5
As memorial services go, Miss Henley’s had a festive air. And why not? According to the latest rumor rocketing through Woodbridge, all the instructions were in her will, right down to choice of the organ music. If you believed the wagging tongues, Father Timothy wasn’t all that happy to take orders from beyond the grave. True? Who knows? But Saturday turned out to be an excellent day to hold a memorial. People sure made a point of getting there early to get the best seat. When Jack and I drove up in my Miata, it was impossible to find a place to park anywhere near St. Jude’s. Jack is the proud owner of an ancient Mini Minor in an alarming shade of mud brown. It is currently experiencing technical difficulties, so mine is always the vehicle of choice.
We circled the block three times before spinning off to find a spot four blocks away.
“Well, crap. I can’t believe it,” I said. “We’re a half hour early. Who are all these people? You’d think it was a rock concert from the crowd.”
Jack said, “Told you we should have biked.”
“Not in this outfit, buster.”
By the time we reached the wide stairs to the church, I was doing my best not to limp in my black suede pumps with the four-inch heels. Sally and Benjamin were right behind us.
“It’s the place to be,” Sally said merrily. She was one of those blondes who were born to wear black and she knew it. She fluffed her corkscrew curls as she spotted Todd Tyrell in the clump of media types surrounding the church.
A crowd flowed behind us and swept past up the stairs. Eager beavers took the stairs two at a time. We were lucky enough to elbow our way into the last pew. I recognized quite a few people, from school and just from living in Woodbridge. Kristee from Kristee’s Kandees, Mrs. Tang, and Margaret were sitting closer to the front. I saw the two constables who had come to Henley House, the paramedics, and a pixielike woman with a sleek ponytail who I finally recognized as Mona Pringle, former schoolmate and now emergency services operator. She gave me a conspiratorial wink. I really, really hoped that no one else had spotted that.
I could feel the buzz in the air, like a midnight madness sale at the Woodbridge Mall, a swirl of excitement that seemed just plain wrong at a memorial service. Especially when the service was for someone whose body I’d found myself.
To add to the buzz, there was plenty of police presence. Sally elbowed me and pointed toward Pepper and her husband, the noted boy toy, Nick Monahan.
“There he is, God’s gift to the girls,” Sally snickered.
I kept my mouth firmly shut. The less said about Nick Monahan the better. But there was a good reason he’d earned the nickname “Nick the Stick.” It was just hard to believe that Pepper, with all her guts and brainpower, couldn’t see past that handsome face and athlete’s body. It had cost her my friendship. What else would it cost her?
“Bed-hopping slacker,” Jack said cheerfully.
Sally added a bit too loudly, “I suppose they deserve each other.”
Benjamin turned his head and furrowed his teddy-bear face. “Sally, for heaven’s sake. We’re in church.”
Pepper turned around at that exact moment.
Sally caught her breath.
I felt myself blanch.
Benjamin whispered, “When will you two learn a bit of control?”
Luckily Pepper’s attention was diverted by the arrival of several elderly women, in navy skirts and sweaters, wearing large crosses. They could only be nuns, in those outfits. I remembered some of the faces from St. Jude’s. It wasn’t like nuns to be late, but I figured this batch was probably from out of town. They were being ushered toward the front of the church to join the rest.
Although the new arrivals seemed quite solemn, even the somber church and the nature of the event couldn’t mask the upbeat mood of the congregation.
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