Free Dead Canaries Don't Sing by Cynthia Baxter

there was untouched, waiting to be used.
    I did a double take when I saw the large picture prominently displayed in the front hallway. The blown-up photograph in an elaborate gilt frame showed Merrilee and Tommee side by side, their arms around each other as they stood beneath a canopy of pink roses. Merrilee, engulfed by a puffy white cloud of a dress, looked as if this was the happiest day of her life. Next to her stood a red-haired, freckled, pudgy Tommee Frack, looking as if he couldn’t wait to get out of his tight tuxedo.
    When Merrilee came in behind me and caught me gawking at the king-size wedding picture, she sighed.
    “I know; it’s beautiful, isn’t it? So was everything about that day. It was absolutely perfect.”
    “You both look so . . . young.”
    “We were young. I was twenty-one, and Tommee had just turned twenty-two.”
    “How long had you two known each other?”
    “We met in high school. Tommee and I were high school sweethearts from the ninth grade on. You know, the kind of kids that are always holding hands in the hall and making out in front of their lockers? Junior Prom, Senior Prom, the whole nine yards . . . Then we both went to college here on the Island. I went to the state university, because my parents didn’t have the money for a private school. But Tommee’s folks sent him to Brookside College. They didn’t have much money, either, but somehow they found a way. They doted on Tommee.”
    “Did he win a scholarship?”
    She shook her head. “Tommee was brilliant, but not in a school-type way. I mean, his grades weren’t anything to write home about. He was people-smart. He could talk anybody into anything, you know? He could take any situation, anything at all, and make people see things the way he wanted them to see them.
    “It even worked with teachers. He’d talk them into giving him a few extra points, or dropping the lowest test grade. That kind of thing. And because of it, everybody knew who he was. They didn’t necessarily like him, but they knew him. It was like this special talent Tommee had. You know, always finding a way to be at the center of things.”
    I was watching her face as she reminisced. With a shock, I realized she had stars in her eyes. It was the same look Betty accused me of having whenever I was around Nick.
    She really loved him, I thought. I hastily amended that statement. She really loves him. Even now. He’s the one she never got over. The one who broke her heart.
    “Is there a bathroom I can use?” I asked abruptly. I didn’t really have to go, but I was anxious for an excuse to look at the rest of the house. It was funny, the way going to the ladies room was turning out to be a terrific investigative technique. It literally opened doors.
    “Sure. Right upstairs. End of the hall. And I’ll get that coffee started.”
    As I walked down the second-floor hallway, I glanced into each bedroom. The first room on the left was the master bedroom. Merrilee had decorated it all in white lace. Next to the bed, I noticed a framed close-up of Tommee.
    Amazing, I thought. The first face she sees in the morning and the last face she sees before she goes to sleep at night.
    But it was the next room that totally floored me. It was much smaller, probably meant to be a study or a guest room. And it did contain a desk with an outdated-looking computer and a sofa.
    Otherwise, it looked like an altar to Tommee Frack.
    Business-style letters had been framed and hung, congratulatory notes from politicians praising Tommee for his valuable contribution to Long Island’s economy, and thank-you letters from satisfied clients. I skimmed a letter from George Babcock, President of The Babcock Group, printed on thick, expensive-looking stationery embossed with gold. It was a job offer, dated eight years earlier. Using ridiculously flowery wording, Babcock welcomed Tommee Frack to his firm and said he was looking forward to a long and prosperous association.
    But that was