Free Moving Can Be Murder by Susan Santangelo Page A

such short notice.
    At the rate I was going, I’d probably still
be packing when the moving truck pulled up to the door.
    I needed help – in more ways than one – so I
enlisted Jenny. I could always count on my daughter to be
sympathetic to my feelings. She even let me whine to my heart’s
content without criticism. Most of the time.
    “I hate the feeling of being unsettled,” I
said for probably the hundredth time as we worked side by side in
the dining room, packing up the good china and crystal. “I wish Dad
and I had found a new home before being forced out of our old
one.”
    “You and Dad are more than welcome to move
in with me,” said my darling daughter as she helped me wrap some
Waterford crystal goblets in bubble paper. “Of course, you’d have
to sleep on the sofa bed in the living room. Unless I moved in with
Mark.” She smiled at me mischievously.
    I considered my reply carefully, for once.
Jenny was a grown-up woman and I had already assumed that her
relationship with Mark had progressed beyond the platonic. Was she
hinting that a wedding could be in the near future? Nah, that was
probably just wishful thinking on my part, coupled with my bad
habit of jumping to conclusions.
    “That’s so nice of you to offer, sweetie,” I
said, ignoring the chance to ask a few personal questions, which
just about killed me. “But I’m afraid that if we moved into a small
condo like yours, it might point your father in that direction as a
permanent solution. You know his new mantra for a place to live –
something we can lock and leave. I’m sure he learned that phrase on
HGTV. And what about the dogs? Are they allowed in your
complex?”
    “The offer’s good if you get desperate, Mom.
Don’t worry about Lucy and Ethel. I’ve seen other tenants walking
dogs, so I’m sure they’re allowed.
    “Where’s Dad this morning? I thought he’d be
here helping you pack.”
    “I wish I knew,” I said in frustration. “He
was reading the paper this morning as usual. Scissors in hand, just
in case he found something to clip. You know how he is.”
    Jenny laughed and rolled her eyes.
    “I was talking about how miserable I felt.
Well, I was complaining,
    really.” I sighed. “Poor man, he must be
sick of listening to me by now. Anyway, the next thing I knew, he
shot out of his chair and said he had to go out for a little while.
No explanation. And he’s been gone for more than two hours. With
all this to do.” I gestured around at the growing mass of boxes
that seemed to be taking over every part of the house.
    The more I thought about Jim’s behavior, the
madder I got. Here we were, with less than two weeks to go before
we moved out, and My Beloved, whose health was the main reason I’d
agreed to move in the first place, was nowhere to be found.
    “Which would you rather have, Mom?” asked
Jenny. “Your husband second-guessing every packing decision you
make and driving you crazy, or one who’s temporarily a.w.o.l.?”
    No contest there.
    “When you put it like that, I guess I’m
lucky he’s out of the house,” I agreed. “Let’s see how much more we
can get done before he shows up to re-organize us.”
    I heard the kitchen door slam, and the dogs
began to bark.
    “Too late,” said Jenny. “I’ll go get the lay
of the land. You keep packing. No dilly-dallying.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll get right back
to it, ma’am.” Jeez. When did my daughter become so bossy?
    I was standing on the step stool, reaching
for my good serving platter, which remained maddeningly beyond my
grasp, when My Beloved materialized to help.
    “Carol, you might fall. I’ll get the platter
down for you.”
    I bit back a sarcastic reply, like, “Better
late than never,” and when Jim handed me the platter, I took a good
look at him. He was quivering with excitement, like Lucy and Ethel
are when they’re anticipating a treat.
    Something was definitely up.
    “Sit down, honey. I have some great