Free Organize Your Corpses by Mary Jane Maffini Page B

her cousin still gets the truffles every week. The best part is, I still get the business and I won’t have to put up with all those remarks she always made. The left-handed compliments and the digs. And that special way she had of looking down her nose at you. Remember?”
    “Who could forget?”
    “She had a lot of power over people.” Kristee shivered.
    “You’re telling me,” said a pink-faced woman with a silver brush cut and earrings to match. I recognized her as Ramona, the librarian from the Woodbridge Library reference department. “I saw her when I went to the doctor for my annual checkup last week. Just the sight of her was enough to raise my blood pressure. And I’m a tough cookie. But it was like when you barely avert a car accident by slamming on your brakes. There were a couple of scrapes she never caught me out on at St. Jude’s, and all of a sudden I panicked. That’s crazy, I know. I can’t believe I was afraid of her, but . . .” She shivered and her silver earrings jingled. “These truffles are fabulous though, Kristee.”
    Sally edged her way in between us and gave me an oversized wink. She followed it with a playful nudge in my ribs.
    “What’s that about?” I said.
    “He’s very yummy.”
    “Who?”
    “You know who.” She glanced over my shoulder.
    I jerked my head around, and sure enough, there he was, leaning against a wall and watching us. Sally gave him a flirtatious little wave.
    “What is the matter with you? He’s married. I need to get involved with a married man like I need . . .” Words failed me. A periscope? An ant farm? A weather vane?
    “That’s just it, my tiny single friend,” Sally said. “He’s not married.”
    “Is.”
    “Was.”
    “I said is . Oh. Was?”
    “Yep.”
    “Well, I’m not looking for a recently divorced man either.”
    “His wife died. Plane crash.”
    “That’s awful. But what did you do, stroll up to him and ask? Oh crap, Sally. I hope you didn’t mention me.”
    “The topic just came up. We are at a reception for someone who died. I didn’t tell him that you have been blushing every time he so much as glances at you.”
    “Not true. They have the heat blasting in here.”
    “His name, in case you’re interested,” Sally breathed, “is Dominic Lo Bello. That’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?”
    I shrugged.
    “He’s new in town. Remember, any time you need the facts, just put Sally on the trail. See you later.”
    The party atmosphere continued. The room was jammed with former students and teachers, many of whom seemed jubilant in the extreme. I even thought I caught a glimpse of Mr. Kanalakis, the art teacher who’d been fired in the middle of his first year at St. Jude’s. Yes, for sure, it was Mr. Kanalakis. At six foot six, he towered over everyone else. His long, thick black ponytail had a bit of grey in it now, and maybe he was showing the beginning of a paunch, but nearly fifteen years later, I would have recognized him anywhere. Perhaps I just imagined that cloud of testosterone in the air. Amazingly, he was having an animated conversation with two retired nuns from St. Jude’s. They had obviously been to a hairdresser for today’s send-off.
    “Get a load of that,” Sally said, stopping for second. “That’s Kanalakis. He’s sure having a hell of a good time.”
    “Yes,” I said. “There was a time when they were all ready to run him out of town. Oh look, there’s Mrs. Neufield too.”
    “Time heals all whatevers,” Sally said, drifting off into the crowd.
    Everyone seemed eager to talk about the last time they’d seen Miss Henley and how she’d been able to put the fear of God into them. The conversation was punctuated with squeals and nervous laughter. Tales of fear at the gas pump, the bakery, the post office. The last time I’d seen Miss Henley she was dead, and I didn’t want to revisit that.
    I drifted back to the food table, all the time trying to dodge Todd Tyrell, who was working the