Tomb With a View

Of course, there was really a James A. Garfield who was the twentieth president of the United States, and yes, he is buried in a wonderful memorial in Cleveland, Ohio. History records that he did once have an affair with a young woman named Lucia Calhoun. In an attempt to make Pepper’s life more interesting and far more complicated, the ghost, the illegitimate child, the murder, and Mr. Stone’s surprise are all figments of my imagination.

1

If I knew Marjorie Klinker was going to get murdered, I might have been nicer to her. Well . . . maybe. Unfortunately, though I have the incredibly annoying “Gift” of being able to see and talk to the dead, I am not psychic. Which means I have no way of predicting the future. That morning in late summer when it all started, I didn’t know what was going to happen in just a little over twenty-four hours, and not knowing it, when my boss, Ella Silverman, informed me that I’d be working side by side with Marjorie, I reacted the way any rational human being would.

I freaked.

“But Marjorie is crazy!” I wailed. I’d walked into my office and put away my Juicy Couture bag and the salad I brought for lunch right before Ella showed up, so my hands were free. That was good, because it gave me the opportunity to add a wild gesture that I was certain said everything there was to say about Marjorie’s mental state.

And Ella? She gave me that look she usually reserves for her three teenaged daughters. The one that has patience written all over it along with the P.S. I’m not going to put up with you acting this way much longer.

The minute she was in my office, Ella sat down in my guest chair. Now, she popped up, the better to look imposing and boss-like. She should have known that wasn’t going to work on me. I was more than a head taller than her. I was more than fifty pounds lighter than her. I had the curly red hair, the attitude, and oh yes, the style that a middle-aged woman in Earth Shoes could only dream about. Ella may have been the boss, but I had the whole imposing thing down pat.

This didn’t stop her from folding her hands at her waist and lifting her slightly saggy chin. It was a gloomy Wednesday and the air outside was heavy with humidity and the promise of rain. Ella must have been watching the local weather when she got dressed that morning. Her pantsuit was as gray as the clouds that hung over Cleveland like an untucked bedsheet. Her expression was just as deadly serious. In fact, the only things that made her look a little less like one of those thunderclouds outside were the pink beads she had looped around her neck twice and the nail polish that matched them perfectly, down to the hint of sparkle. “I know you don’t mean that about Marjorie,” she said, and because she mistakenly thought it got to me every time, she added a motherly smile.

“It’s too hot for senior citizens to come to the cemetery on tour,” Ella added. “And school hasn’t started yet, so there aren’t any school groups requesting tours, either. That means you don’t have that much to keep you busy, so you can’t tell me you do. This is the best use of your time, and really, it’s such a special occasion. You do agree that the commemoration is important, don’t you?” She twitched away the very thought. “Well, of course you do!”

Commemoration?

Like I was actually planning on working that day, I took my time turning on my computer, the better to give my own mental data bank time to reboot. Now that Ella mentioned it, I did recall seeing something in the Garden View employee newsletter about an upcoming commemoration. Seeing being the operative word here, not reading. Since Ella was the one who proudly wrote and edited the newsletter, I couldn’t admit it. At least not outright.

“The commemoration.” I nodded to convince her we were thinking in perfect harmony. “And Marjorie’s part in the commemoration is . . . ?”

“Well, she’s offered to chair the event, of course. I mean, I really didn’t expect any less of her. When it comes to President Garfield, Marjorie is something of an expert.”

Ah, the pieces started falling into place and not a moment too soon. “Oh, that commemoration.” I flopped into my desk chair. After four years of working at Garden View Cemetery, I should have known better, but really, a girl can hope, right? I’d fooled myself into thinking all this commemoration talk involved something exciting, or at least mildly interesting. Just like that, my hopes faded along with my smile.

Something told me Ella realized it, because her rah-rah smile faded, too. “You do remember the President Garfield commemoration, don’t you?” she asked, dropping back into the guest chair. “You did read about it in the newsletter? And you were listening when we discussed it at the last staff meeting, right?”